


Love So Soft

by DawnsEternalLight



Series: All These Things Will Grow [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics)
Genre: Bonding, Bonfires, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Damian is a good kid, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, S'mores
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-18 01:22:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19966402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: Damian already knows how to make s'mores, but instead of admitting that, he lets his dad teach him too.





	Love So Soft

**Author's Note:**

> S'mores part 2 because I couldn't resist having Bruce teach Damian too
> 
> Thanks to Lurker who gave me the perfect title for this :)

Damian sat so close to the fire he could feel the skin of his face drying out from the heat. He closed his eyes and let the warmth soak in to his cheeks like he’d used to let the sun do. The red flickering against the back of his eyelids was almost the same as whenever he’d look up at the sun, eyes squished closed against the glare. He ignored the bite of wind on his back and the way the leaves around him crunched as his family shifted and moved, some collecting sticks and marshmallows, other’s refilling their mugs with cider or cocoa.

He was happy enough to soak up the heat radiating off the fire, to let it crisp him and burn into his skin. It was as close as he’d get to summer or the desert for a while yet, and no one let him sit so close to the fireplace in the manor. He’d almost fallen in once when Alfred the cat bumped him from behind and Father had refused to let him get so close since.

Still, he loved letting the smoky burned scent weave it’s way into his clothes, and press up against his skin. He loved how it dried out anything close to it, seeping the moisture out and creating a texture on his fingers that was fun to rub at. He liked the way the warm air twisted it’s way down his throat and into his lungs warming him from the inside. It was one of the few things about the cold weather he’d found he enjoyed, and it was still something heat seeking.

The lawn chair next to him creaked as someone sat in it. Damian’s arm warmed further with the proximity of another body. He let his eyes slip open and glance at the figure beside him. Father smiled at him, a marshmallow crowned stick held out towards Damian.

He took it and frowned at the white cylinder. His father raised and eyebrow before slipping a bag off his arm and holding it up for Damian to see.

“I got some graham crackers and chocolate too.” Father said, tugging the mentioned snacks out from the crook of his arm where he’d kept them. The hand of that arm held another stick and marshmallow. “I thought we could make s’mores.”

“Everyone is making s’mores.” Damian said, eyeing his stick.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t too.” Father told him.

He had a soft smile on his face, that kind that Father gave him whenever they did something mundane. It meant he was excited about what they were doing, even if Damian wasn’t sure why. He had started to realize those things were the same Richard was excited by. Normal things, or tradition, or those considered the American version of “children’s rights of passage”.

Damian hummed, and locked his eyes on the sweet, then back up at Father. He looked eager, leaning towards Damian in that way that said, ‘this is something I can share with you if you will allow it’. His heart twinged, this was not Damian’s first experience with s’mores. Richard had showed him while they had been Batman and Robin together on a camping trip.

“My dad showed me how make these when I was little.” Father said, pulling a box of graham crackers from his bag to set on his lap, and then a large Hershey's bar. He set the plastic bag down by his feet, something settling inside against the grass.

“We made them every time we went camping, and some days I could convince him to go out to the back and depending on the time of year he’d light a fire or we’d roast them over the grill.” Father chuckled, eyes far away as he revisited memories.

“I thought we could do it together at least once.” Father said, looking back down at Damian, “I also figured you hadn’t done it before. You guys were pretty busy your first year here.” He looked Damian over, searching his face for something, perhaps confirmation that Damian hadn’t made s’mores before.

“I would enjoy it if you taught me, I have heard much about them.” Damian said, giving him a little smile.

It was an instant answer. Nothing else could be said. Damian did not want to see Father’s face fall or hear the disappointment he had so far been unable to hide whenever Damian admitted that Richard had already showed him something, like a favorite movie or the little ice cream stand that few people knew of.

Damian was afraid that Father would stop attempting to teach him things if he continued to admit Richard had already done so. He did not wish to lose this or any future opportunity to spend time with him.

And, Damian could not bear to make Father feel so disappointed again.

The first time Father had come to him, hoping to teach him something, it had been the art of baking cookies. Father himself had seemed tired, and Damian had misread his exhaustion as something to be treated, instead of something soothed by interaction.

“Richard has already taught me this, Father.” Damian had announced, “I can bake you some if you would like?”

He had assumed Father would be pleased to have to avoid teaching Damian such a mundane task as baking, but he had been incorrect. Father had looked struck, and then sad. Damian had not been used to such looks from his Father, the man was normally reserved and in tight control of his emotions.

No one had baked cookies that night. When Damian had asked Richard later he’d learned that it was a tradition of sorts, baking to scare away bad dreams or hard days.

“Are we truly expected to spear a stick with a marshmallow?” Damian asked, hoping to prompt Father into the teaching, “Is it not unsanitary?”

“We can use kebob spears, but it’s more fun with sticks.” Father held the stick already covered in a marshmallow out towards Damian again.

“If we are to use sticks, then that one is yours. Should I not find one of my own?”

Father grinned at him, “Of course, want me to show you the best kinds to pick?”

The stick and it’s marshmallow was left on Father’s chair as they moved into the trees surrounding the area, Father’s flashlight illuminating their way when the trees began to obscure the bonfire’s light.

Damian wouldn’t deny that he was pleased that Father had singled him out at the bonfire. Or that the thought of Father teaching him something, even as mundane as a holiday snack, warmed him from the inside. Damian had expected to spend this fall event snuggled close to the fire, mumbling with Richard, attempting not to fight with Drake, and pretending he was warm in the manor with his cat curled in his lap.

He had been certain that Father would be busy with everyone else, giving him a passing head pat or side hug when he had a chance. And Damian was not going to push tonight. Not with everyone, League included, flocking around the manor grounds. He did not want a fight or much more than peace and quiet.

It was nice in the trees, even a small distance away from the party going on behind them. The wooded area folded around he and Father like a blanket, muffling the other sounds and giving them a chance to be alone.

The smell of Fall was different here. It was not smoky with the fire, nor spiced by cinnamon and clove from various drinks passed around. It was chilly and smelled of damp earth. Their steps were crunches on the carpet of fallen leaves below them, fresh layers crack cracking above the muddied, wet leaves buried below.

“You want one that’s long enough to reach safely into the fire.” Father directed, “It should taper so you don’t end up with a huge hole in your marshmallow.”

Eventually they found a perfect stick and moved back to their seats by the bonfire. Father retrieved his own stick and offered Damian a bag of marshmallows.

Damian pulled one out and popped it firmly onto the stick he and Father had selected.

“Now you stick it in the fire and let it get as crispy as you want.” Father explained.

Damian nodded, absently pushing his stick into the fire. Back out here it was loud again. A game of hide and seek had been started, and contrary to the point of the game, there was much yelling and laughter.

There were too many voices. Too much movement. Damian had been used to it with Mother, but even then the voices and shifting had an organization to them. Damian had not frequented dining halls filled with idol chatter nor had he gone out on breaks with any of the members. His life had been organized, and any chaos was planned and accounted for.

Here it was much the same. He had grown used to the bursts of chaos created by his family being together, and the idle chatter of charity events. Crowds and the chaos of the streets were things Damian prepared himself for. The rest of the time was used to the quiet of a large building and a few people.

Not this. Damian had not prepared for this. It was waves of sound and noise and confusion. Too many people for his tastes, and until Father had arrived he had been counting the minutes until he could excuse himself. Warming by the bonfire and catching sanity from the crackle and snap of fire devouring wood.

“That’s a little too crisp, son.”

Father’s voice shook Damian back to himself. He focused on the marshmallow and pulled out the black lump. Damian blew on the burning sugar and winced as it slipped, pulled, and finally fell from the stick to plop against the dirt below, remnants hanging from his stick like white taffy pulled partially then forgotten.

Damian scowled at the stick.

Father held out a replacement marshmallow, “Everything alright?”   
  
“I am fine.”

“Do you not like marshmallows? Or is all this boring?” Father’s tone was gentle, not accusing or mad, but tinged with a little sadness.

Damian shook his head, “It is not that. I like them, particularly Pennyworth’s. I am not bored either, I am pleased you would wish to share this with me.”

“Only?” Father prompted.

Damian did not wish to let the chaos or his distraction ruin the night. He could deal with the background noise and enjoy Father’s lesson. Even if it was one he was already familiar with. He was enjoying this and did not wish to lose his Father’s attention or to ruin the good mood of their time together.

“Nothing, I was simply distracted by the noise. I will tune it out.”

Damian toasted his new marshmallow to perfection, browned, but with a few burned spots for some bitterness against all the sweet of the treat.

“We add the chocolate and crackers now, correct?” Damian was already reaching for the Hershey’s bars.

Father showed him how to squish the whole thing together. Damian knew he was being watched as he bit down on the sweet treat. He loved the flavor, but try as he might he felt he could not replicate the same surprise and delight he’d felt upon first tasting a s’more.

“It is wonderful.” he said around the bit of not quite melted chocolate sticking to the roof of his mouth.

He could tell from Father’s expression that he had not managed to fool him with his ‘first taste’. Either that or he believed Damian to have not liked it. His own s’more was held loosely in his hand.

“It is best when still warm, Father.” Damian said, motioning to the s’more.

Father took a bite, thinking. Damian tried not to fidget in his seat. Would he be in trouble for lying? Would this be what caused Father to decide to forgo any future attempts at teaching him? He worked at the chocolate still stuck to the roof of his mouth, the sweetness almost sour now.

“Dick showed you?” Father asked.

“We were camping in the backyard. He said it was something the two of you did together.” Damian answered, “He wished to share it with me as a way of helping me to connect with you.”

Neither of them had known at the time that Bruce was not dead, just lost in time. Damian had been grasping for whatever remained of Father, any string to tie him to the man he’d wanted to know, but never would be able to.

Damian picked at a corner of graham cracker, “You were disappointed when I had already learned other things. I did not want you to feel that way again.”

He wanted to add that he would have been happy to have made s’mores with Father even if he had not offered to teach him. He enjoyed spending time with him, and it was nice to do something normal. It made Damian feel, he was not sure what to name the feeling, but it was different than when they trained together. It was warm and comfortable. Perhaps this was the feeling Richard so often tried to instill in Damian by making him do normal things.

“Damian,” Father started, his voice almost a sigh. He caught himself and smiled, “Thank you, but you don’t have to do things or lie so I’m not upset.”

“I--” Damian’s hands were getting warm on his s’more, sweaty and sticky from holding it too long, “I did not do it simply to please you.”

“Oh?” Father asked, his voice strangely soft.

“Richard spoke often of things you two did together. Things outside of patrol or masks.” Damian answered, and paused, unsure how to continue.

Would it seem as if he were desperate or ungrateful to tell Father he wished he could have done those things with him, not Richard? Damian loved that his brother had done so much with him, but he was jealous too. Richard had been able to learn from Father, he had so much time with the man Damian was still figuring out.

“And you wish we did more of that?” Father answered for him, “You lied because you were afraid I’d leave?”

Father frowned and shook his head, “I’m sorry for giving you the impression that if it wasn’t new we couldn’t do it together. I love spending time with you, and you’re right we don’t do it enough. Next time tell me, even if Dick or someone else has shown you something we can still make good memories between the two of us doing it.”

Damian nodded, taking a large bite out of his s’more. It had cooled, so the chocolate was firmer, but it was still good. He swallowed, trying to swallow back emotions at the same time. Damian could feel his face heat up a bit knowing Father cared enough to want to do things with him. Father _loved_ spending time with him.

Sitting here, eating s’mores with Father was something Damian had not ever imagined as a young child. He’d visualized battles fought, victorious dinners had, and a father so proud he rested a hand on Damian’s shoulder. It was a cold imagination, one learned and expected based on what he’d experienced, and Damian felt he’d be disappointed now if that’s what he received.

He liked this much better. Liked Father’s kind tone, laced with emotion because he too wished for connection. He liked the warmth and comfort of sitting together and doing something normal. Damian enjoyed this feeling that they were typical. A father and son doing something any other father and son would do. It was...right. It was what Damian had always wanted, deep within him. What he’d missed and yearned for.

He scooted his chair closer to Father and leaned over, so that his head could rest on Father’s broad shoulder. He was warm from the fire, his shirt soft and comfortable.

“Good.” Damian said, “I have many more things I wish to do with you. Richard spoke much of the Gotham Knights, but we only got to visit them once, and the trip was interrupted. And fishing, I cannot understand the draw of sitting on a lake for hours, but I am willing to try it.”

Father chuckled, and shifted his arm so he was hugging Damian, “We can do those things. And others too. Alfred says you’ve got a bit of a green thumb on you. Helped him keep my roses in good shape while I was away?”

Damian hummed, “Richard almost killed them. He needed someone capable to assist him. Still, I am no expert and would appreciate some tips.”

He was squeezed closer to Father at that, “I think we can make that work.”


End file.
